


Old Sins

by Vesta (Biggelois)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, First Time, M/M, PWP, Pining Dean, Pining Sam, Wincest.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 06:54:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7674433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biggelois/pseuds/Vesta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can run but you can never hide. Your old sins will always come back and bite you in the ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Sins

**Author's Note:**

> This is me moving my old stuff from LJ. Beware that this is Wincest.

He sat on the low railing by the boardwalk when Dean left the bar. Brown hair, bangs falling in his eyes, pushed away by flicks of his hand or a twist of his head. Long legs stretched out in front of him, looking relaxed, but that didn't fool Dean. He saw the small frown marring an otherwise smooth forehead and teeth chewing on lips already red and a little swollen. He had probably been sitting there for some time, chewing his lips all the while. It was a sight Dean had not expected to see ever again, or at least not in a very long time. His brother Sam.

Dean had gone to the bar that night out off cheer boredom. Laying low and staying out off sight had its price, and part of the price was this worn down California town. Shabby houses, no lawns, just dust and even shabbier bars with the dregs of the street as regulars. He had found one that served decent beer and had a working TV at least, he couldn't afford to have one himself, had something to do with registrations and stuff, not worth the bother to fake another name for it. It was hard enough as it was to stay invisible, but as they say; it's easier to hide in a crowd and that was how he had ended up here. Lots of people and no one ever looked a second time at the next person. But he had trained the one who hunted him after all, so he shouldn’t be that surprised to see Sam sitting there. 

He stood and drank in the sight for a moment, trying to figure out if he should run or step forward, he couldn't keep the smile off of his face because Sam was a sight for sore eyes and his had been sore for so long now. It turned out that he pondered too long, Sam saw him and was on his feet in an instant. Dean had the time to think "Still reflexes like a fucking snake," before Sam reached him and hit him straight across the mouth, sending Dean sprawling.

Flat on his back, with his face hurting and Sam standing over him, looking furious with his fists closed ready to strike, Dean still couldn't help but feel the familiar slow somersault his heart did every time he had Sam in view. He looked good, healthy, and Dean smiled again, not caring about his split lip, he was just so relieved to see Sam again. 

"What are you smiling about, jerk?" Sam didn't sound happy and he stepped closer, looking ready to kick Dean where he lay.

Dean shook his head. "Good to see you, Sammy. Been a while." Sam did kick him then, not hard but enough to make it clear that this was not for fun and games.

Sam bent down and grabbed Dean by the jacket, hauled him back onto his feet. "A while? Eight months, three weeks and four days, you son of a bitch. That's how long it's been since you took off. Not a while."

Dean blinked, had it really been that long? He had lost track of time early, been too busy hiding, trying to forget. The days hadn't been important, the things that had mattered had been the next place to stay, the next shot of whiskey, the next woman he nailed. Nothing had helped though, he hadn’t forgotten. He wondered if Sammy had figured out why he had run by now, and come after him to off him, or if he had been hunting Dean just because he was worried. 

Nose to nose, Dean could feel Sam's breath on his cheek, see the hurt and the pain in his eyes and he felt so bad for causing this but there had been no choice, there still wasn't any.  
"Why, Dean? Why did you leave?" Sam leaned his forehead against Dean's, and Dean didn't know what to say.

He couldn't tell the truth, could he now? He couldn't tell about how Sam had taken over his dreams, his daytime thoughts and become the one thing that Dean's world circled around. Dean still remembered that first time when he had really noticed Sam, seen him in a way that was so wrong. Sam had been cleaning the upholstery in the Impala, he had spilled a can of Coke in the back seat and Dean had gotten furious. It had been a hot day, Sam had been down to cut offs and nothing more, cursing and complaining while he was cleaning. Dean had been sitting in a chair on the side, drinking a beer, listening to Sam's bitching. Nothing exceptional really, until Sam was done and climbed out to stand beside the car. He stretched his arms over his head, his skin sweat-glistening in the sun and with a triumphant smile on his face. The sight had hit Dean with the force of a double round from a sawed off and sent his blood pooling in his groin, making him hard like he never had before.

Dean had stumbled in through the door and locked himself in the bathroom, the picture of Sam swimming in front of his eyes. The cold water he splashed himself with didn't help, the only thing he could see was Sam. He stood in front of the mirror, tried to get his breathing under control, get his achingly hard dick to lie down and sleep but he couldn't tear his mind away from Sam. Without thinking he popped his jeans and got his cock out, it took only a few strokes before he was coming, splattering the sink, still staring at himself in the mirror with the image of Sammy burning his eyes.

Sam banged on the door, asking if he was alright, what had happened, but Dean didn't answer. He threw up in the sink and then his knees gave up and he sank down on the floor. Sam kept shouting, asking and Dean managed to get out a croaked answer about being too long in the sun, sunstroke, or some such. Sam finally gave up and left Dean to his own twirling mind. He sat there and tried to tell himself that it was nothing, that it didn't matter that he just had jerked off to the image of his little brother. 

When Dean emerged from the bathroom he had convinced himself that it was a one time incident. He hadn't gotten laid in weeks and it had just been a case of bad timing, that was all. But he could still not look Sam in the face for a couple of days afterwards.

The next time it happened he couldn't explain it with lack of sex. He was in a back alley, getting a blow job from a pretty red head and he couldn't get it up. Not at all. She had tried various kinds of tricks but nothing had helped. Dean couldn't concentrate on her, he had Sam's displeased look when he walked out with the woman in too fresh memory. And Sam had chewed on his lower lip, making it all red and swollen. The red head's lips were nothing like Sam's, too thin, too much lipstick. He realised when he looked down on her, kneeling in front of him, that he would much rather have Sam there, sliding his redswollen lips up and down his cock. 

Dean pushed her away, apologised, got Sammy, went to the motel room, locked himself in the bathroom and threw up in the sink again. He didn't have to wait for it to happen a third time to realise that something was wrong with him.

It was his job to protect Sam, period. Dean did his best to keep a clear head about it. He could handle this, he could not abandon Sam. The days turned into long running sessions, where he tried to keep out off Sam's way as much as possible and at the same time stay close enough to keep an eye on him. The nights though, the nights were waking nightmares. Dean knew that Sam jerked off, a lot. That hadn't bothered him before, the muffled moans he could hear from Sam's side of the room on a nightly basis. He hadn't thought about his own reactions to the noises, just stripped his own meat in sync with Sam and that had been that. Now when he thought about it, it dawned on him that it was the noises that had gotten him going. He would startle awake at the softest sound from Sam and not be able to go back to sleep until it was quiet again. 

He didn't sleep that much anymore, Sam had become an obsession and Dean couldn't stop thinking about him. He still jerked off every night, and every night Dean lay in his own bed, trying not to listen, trying not to imagine what Sam looked like. But that was impossible because he had already seen, seen the way Sam tilted his head and arched his back, how his hips moved in time with the steady rhythm of his hand. Sometimes he pushed the cover down and Dean got a full view of his hand moving on his long, thick cock. Those nights Dean barely needed to touch himself, he came anyway when he saw Sam come, saw the thick strands of come shooting from his dick. It became unbearable.

Dean wanted to touch. He had to stop himself from caressing Sam, from putting his hands on him when he got close enough, from grabbing him and licking those pretty lips that smiled so friendly at him. He couldn't protect Sammy anymore. He couldn't trust himself being around Sammy anymore. Sooner or later he would slip and do something stupid. 

It was the hardest decision he had ever made but Dean knew it was the right one, there was no option to it. He had been sitting beside Sam's bed, watching him sleep, and he had realised it wasn't just about getting off, getting his dick wet. He wasn't even hard and he still wanted nothing else than to crawl in there with Sam and feel his skin, the way his chest moved and his heart beat. He packed up his things, left enough credit cards for Sam to survive on for a good long while, put a note with a bad excuse on the table and left in the middle of the night. That had been eight months, three weeks and four days ago. But he should have known that old sins always came back to bite you in the ass and here it was, the worst of all the old sins.

Sam was still holding him by the jacket, still staring at him and Dean crumbled a little. Once, he thought, just once I want to touch him. Carefully, like he would approach an animal, he raised his hands and put them on Sam's face, cupping his cheeks. Sam breath hitched, this was obviously nothing he had expected. And how could he, Dean thought, brothers weren't supposed to touch like this. He ran his thumb over Sam's lower lip, pressing slightly, feeling teeth behind. Before he could stop himself, he leaned forward the last inches and kissed Sam. Soft and gentle, tasting Sam, letting his tongue slip out just a little to lick and Sam exploded on his senses.

Sam stood motionless, holding his jacket and Dean could hear his stuttering breath, feel it against his mouth and Sam let go of the lapels and grabbed his shoulders instead and then Dean tore himself free and ran.

He could hear Sam shout behind him, but he didn't stop to listen, just ran for his car, dug in his pockets for the keys because now he was in a hurry, had to get away before Sam came after him again, needed to hide, to forget though he knew he couldn't. He dropped the keys, fumbled around with numb hands on the asphalt, heard Sammy getting closer. 

His face hit the hood of the car with a smack. Sam was leaning on him, pinning him down and panting in his ear. Dean groaned, he was so screwed it wasn't funny anymore and the bruises he would have on his face come morning would be more colourful than an artist's palette.

"What the hell, Dean?" The words were hissed in his ear, Sam's lips almost touching him when he spoke. "The fuck are you running for?"

The tone in Sam's voice, the hurt and confusion, kicked the fight out off Dean. He slumped against the hood, stopped trying to wring his wrists from Sam's huge hands and just gave up. He had been running for so long and he didn't want to anymore. Sam might just kill him or even worse, never speak to him again, but that was a risk he had to gamble. It wasn't as if he didn't understand the job Sam had put down into finding him, must've been hell to follow Dean's tracks. So even if this was the last time he ever saw Sam again, he deserved to know the truth, ugly as it was. 

Sam relaxed his hold when Dean went limp under him. "What did I ever do to you," he said, "where did I go wrong, Dean?"

Dean sighed and tried to push up, away from the car. Disturbing as it was, having Sam leaning on him like that had an effect on him and that was the last either of them needed at the moment. His lips still buzzed with the feeling, the taste of Sam, from the short kiss and the feeling of Sam pressing down on his body made his cock twitch. Dean gave himself a mental smack on the head, sick perv as he was. Sam let him up, stepped back, stood beside the car looking like an abandoned dog and Dean's heart ached at the miserable sight. 

"It's not you, Sammy, it was never you." He rubbed his hands over his face, how he should explain this he had no idea about, but they had to come clear, at least so Sam could get on with his life and leave the notion about a nice big brother behind.

Sam made a helpless gesture, almost reaching for Dean but stopped himself. "I don't understand, Dean. You left me, I must have done something to piss you off enough to leave." He frowned a little, "And what the hell was that back there? Kissing me?"

"I'm sorry…"

Dean didn’t' get any further, Sam stepped closer again, crowding him, trapping him against the car once more.

"No, no excuses. You have to tell me, why did you run? You kissed me. Why?"

There was no way to Houdini out off this, Dean realised. Sam was so close again, he could feel body heat radiating from him, contrasted by the cool metal he was leaning on. The forlorn look on Sam was gone just as fast as it had appeared, he looked plain irritated instead and that was easier to handle in a way, Dean had never been able to deal with hurt in Sam's eyes. Bracing himself on the car for support, he took a deep breath and opened the gates and let the flood through.

"I want you." Dean caught Sam's gaze, held it. "I want to fuck you. Never let anyone else touch you again. Have you in my bed, naked. I watched you wank at night, wanted to do it for you. Not just because I wanna have you but because you are the one thing that matters. And I can't have that, it's sick. You leave now, Sammy. Turn around and go, get a life. I'm no good for you, I'll just end up damaging you. That is why I took off."

They were nose to nose again, staring at each other. Dean did not see the smack coming, but it had him reeling. Sam hit him again, slaps in the face, where he could reach and it hurt, split his lip open again and a small trickle of blood tickled his chin. Before he got his hands up, he was again slammed face down over the hood, Sam holding him down. 

"You stupid son of bitch. I could kill you, you know, for being so stupid. I thought you hated me, that it was me 'cause I couldn't hide what I felt good enough." Sam stopped to catch his breath and get a better grip on Dean, pressing him harder against the car. "I wanted you to see. I wanted you all along. Hated it when you picked up a woman, hated it when you came back, stinking of perfume, and god knows what. Hated you when you left."

Dean had stopped struggling again, trying to get his head around the words Sam were spitting out. Sam leaned on him, heavy and solid, he tilted his hips and Dean's head flew up when he felt the hard ridge pressing against him. "You understand now?" Sam whispered in his ear.

"Always with the guilt tripping. Always thinking you're no good." Sam released him and stood, pulling Dean with him. "Just once, Dean, take what you want, because I wanna give it, and stop fucking running."

For a moment he stood there, with Sam's arms holding him close. Dean wasn't normally slow on the uptake but this took some brain twisting to get a hang of. He pondered the good and the bad, the dos and don'ts for all of thirty seconds before coming to a decision, beating down feelings of wrong and not and brother. Sam had said take what you want and even though it went against all his deeper instincts, he had always put himself last on the list, he couldn't resist. Perhaps it wasn't so much conscious thought but a deep down reflex triggering his turning around and kissing Sam, pushing his tongue in hard and tasting what he had wanted for so long. 

Not that he had allowed himself to think about what it would be like their first time, but the occasional thought had slipped, and it was certainly not like this. The brief glimpses he had pictured had involved a bed and time and long and slow. Not like this, on a parking lot with Sam on his knees, sucking Dean's brain out through his dick. Dean didn't have it in him to complain though, not when Sam managed to swallow him whole, burying his nose in Dean's pubes and hummed around him. And those redswollen lips on his cock made his brain fry. He looked down, saw Sammy yank at his own trouser pulling his dick out, felt the wet slip slide of tongue and slight nip of teeth, the way Sam let him push his head down, hold him and fuck his mouth. Dean couldn't hold back even if his life had depended on it. He grabbed Sam by the ears and pushed in, felt Sam's throat open and let him in, and came harder than he ever had before. 

Sam clawed his way up Dean's body, rubbing against him, jamming his tongue into Dean's mouth to let him taste his own come, frantically jacking himself, groaning into the kiss. Dean joined his hand with Sam's, doing what he had wanted all those night, touching him. It didn't take long, Sam was as wired up as Dean and thick strands of come landed wet and slippery on Dean's stomach. 

The drive back to Dean's rented house was quiet. There wasn't much more to be said, at least not now, neither of them could form a coherent sentence and Sam kept busy with licking Dean's neck, kneading his thigh, making it fucking difficult to drive. But Dean managed to get them there without accidents. Once inside there was no time for discussions. Sam was kissing him again, tugging at his clothes and to know that he had got Sam so worked up that he couldn't coordinate his moves properly sent jolts sparking of electricity through Dean.  
There were no neat folding of clothes or putting away of guns, boots were kicked off and thunked into the wall. 

When he had gotten Sam naked, Dean took a step away and just looked at him. He was so beautiful standing there, sweat glistening on his skin, long limbs tense and ready to strike. Dean had seen Sammy pumped on adrenalin so many times before but never had it aimed at himself and it shouldn't be as hot as it was. He took another step backwards and Sam followed, keeping his eyes on Dean like the thought he would try to run away. 

Dean felt the bed behind him and sat down, inched backwards up until he was lying flat. Sam stood by the foot of the bed, looking at him. Looking like it was the best he had ever seen, like he had been starving for eternity and had a banquet laid out before him. It was almost scary to see how Sam's eyes had turned black, pupils blown to the limit, how he bit his lip, hand gripping his cock and stroking it slowly. Lust seemed to have erased all remnants of the gentle, careful Sam Dean had known and leaving only the beast.

A thrill of apprehension ran through his body at the sight, making him impossibly harder because he had no idea what Sam might be capable of, having Dean stretched out like this. Defenceless on his back. But there was only one way to find out. Dean spread his legs, he had had girls do that for him and knew what a whorish impression it made, and another twirling twist of fear and want ran through him when Sam growled deep in his throat. Dean had definitely hit the right spot there.

Sam dove on him, pinning him down with his body weight, pushing his legs apart with a knee and what could have passed as scary turned out to be the hottest Dean had ever had. To make Sam lose it like that, dish out whatever Dean could handle was beyond anything so far. Maybe he should tell Sam that he hadn't done this before, but that might scare Sam off and that was not to happen. Take what you want, Sam had said and Dean intended to do exactly that, come hell or high water. 

Sam pushed Dean's knees up and apart, pressing one leg to his chest. The press of two fingers inside had Dean keening, both from the burn and the unexpected feeling of Sam, inside. Dean was grateful for the hand lotion he kept on the nightstand, Sam had poured half the bottle over him and that made it easier

Three fingers hurt and a tear ran from the corner of his eye, but Sam licked it away, twisted his fingers and something flared inside. Dean's hips came up from the bed, pushing harder at Sam's hand, wanting more, the fluttering touch inside making his cock leak a puddle on his stomach. Then it was gone and he keened again, until he felt something too big, too hard press against him. He tried to get away because there was no chance Sam would fit but he was held down and then it happened. Long, slow, hot and burning. Dean thought he would split in half but then Sam nudged up at that spot inside and he couldn't help but roll his hips up to meet the thrusts. 

It still hurt but Sam inside him was so much, too much and the noise Sam made when he bottomed out, skin slapping against skin, the wetness he leaked on his own stomach made him want to run, want to stay, to howl. Sam's hand on his hip would leave bruises but Dean couldn't care less, it didn't matter that this was wrong and twisted. He braced a hand on the head board, so not bang his head when Sam began thrusting harder and faster, making these growling noises that set Dean even more on fire. His own pleasure was almost beside the point, what mattered was how Sam lost it, the filthy words he was grunting out with every thrust and the look of complete bliss on his face. 

Dean put his hands around Sam's face, like he had outside the bar, and ran his thumb over the swollen lips. Sam slowed down, almost stopped and leaned down for a kiss. It began gently but grew with the need to move and Sam fucked his tongue into Dean's mouth, spearing him from both ends. There was nothing to do but to open up as much as he could and let Sam possess him. Sam was down on his shoulders over him, holding him by the hips, pulling him up to meet every thrust and Dean pushed his ass up to get more. His cock, squeezed between them leaked steadily, screamed for more touch every time Sam's belly rubbed over it. He could feel the tight heat coiling from his thighs to his head and then he was coming, clenching hard, the spasms making him hitch upwards, the almost creak in Sam's ribs when Dean locked his legs around his waist. He felt every twitch of Sam inside when he pushed in hard, felt every spurt of heat that flooded him. 

A little later, when they had cleaned up and dropped back to bed, too exhausted to move much more, they got to talking. Or what would have to pass for talking at least. Sam ordered Dean to stop running or he would shoot him the kneecaps to keep him still. Dean said he understood. As it was, it was hard to believe that he had ever run from this. From Sam, from the big hands holding him so possessively, from the gentle lips stroking against his chest, over his bruised face. For the second time in his life, Dean chose to do what he wanted, and he decided to stop running. There really was no way to escape the old sins and the one that mattered had caught up with him. To the day eight months, three weeks and five days after he ran the first time, Dean relaxed.

Fini.


End file.
